The Chronicles of Klaus
by Kastiga
Summary: My name is Klaus. I'm something else. A different kind of monster. A Hybrid. I'm… angry. Dark. I don't feel safe and I don't know what to do about it. I just need to be rid of everyone else .I wish I could control my demons instead of having my demons control me. I'm lost. Alone. I just don't want to be alone. But in the end I'm left infinitely and utterly alone. And I hate it.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Originals or the Vampire Diaries. If I did, Ian Somerhalder and Joseph Morgan would both be gay and the series' genre would be erotica, if you know what I mean.

**A/N**: Hey, guys. This is my little peak into Klaus' twisted, sexy mind. There might be some inaccuracies here and there, feel free to live _constructive_ criticism on the reviews. Reviews are encouraged in general. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

_My name is Klaus._

_I'm something else._

_A different kind of monster. _

_A Hybrid._

* * *

I've been born years ago. You could ask me to be more specific. Well, you can sod off. I'm not being rude, I just can't. We measured time differently when I came to this world.

I am… ageless. Eternal.

I've been born in a different era.

The world was different, in every imaginable prospect, and then different some more.

Forests. Endless forests. Trees that don't exist anymore.

Rays of light. The sun, its glow had been different back then. Warming and somehow comforting. Never scorching.

I had a family. Mother. Father. Sister. Brothers. The usual.

_As if_.

I used to call them my family. There was a brief period in history where I'd changed the term to _coven_. Later on it changed to _pack_. I think I'm back with just _family_ now. The term is irrelevant at it is. You know, since it's void.

People often associate love with family. I envy those.

I sometimes think back in time to when we lived as a family, before the world changed. Before _we _changed. I think there was love, in occasions. There are flashes of affection. Mostly from Elijah's part. I think that my sister has a soft spot for me, as well, when she's not being the whiney bitch she's so insistently been throughout most of our lives (an achievement in itself). We loved as brothers. We played out a lot. Taught each other how to hunt or carve.

There were happy moments, too. A brotherly meal after hours of fencing. Feeding the family after a good hunt. The way mother's hair shone in the sunlight. The look in father's eyes when he looked at Elijah (always prideful. There was a gleam to his eyes).

This lasted for a while, until the night Henrik and I went to watch the werewolves transform. We used to have a fixation on werewolves. Well, _I_ did. Henrik was just very enthusiastic, to be honest.

Things didn't really turn out very well that night.

It was amazing, for the most part. I remember lying on the ground, a few bushes down from where Henrik was hiding, gazing at the men, eyes wide. I'd wager they were shining, too. I was awed to my core. I've never seen the werewolves change. I lay on the ground that night, watching the dirty men shed their clothes. They were muttering. They looked resigned. They seemed to be bracing themselves. I didn't understand completely. And then I did.

Shuddering. The men were shuddering. They seemed to have been trying to shed their skins, from _within_ their bodies. There were agonized yells, like tortured beasts. I guess they were, tortured beasts, that it. Fingers turned to claws, palms morphed to paws, noses to snouts. Murderous fangs, graceful, erect ears, beautiful, shining fur. They were glorious. I was fascinated by them, I was mesmerized. I felt… almost destined.

Figures now I know why.

That night, all hell broke loose.

* * *

_I'm… angry. Dark. I don't feel safe and I don't know what to do about it._

* * *

Father had never been fond of me. I think he knew I was different before he actually _knew_. He felt I wasn't his blood. He resented me.

I was a mere child and he was my father. He was all the father I knew.

The father I always disappointed. I was never strong enough, fast enough, precise enough. To him, I was weak. If he could only see me now… _I'm the strongest man alive_.

There was violence, too. Lots of it. Every mistake was accompanied with retaliation. Physical retaliation. He kicked me. He flogged me. He whipped me. Honestly, after a while I felt nothing.

It stayed that way. I still feel nothing. Now, people resent _me_ for it. They don't see this is the only way I know how to survive.

I was never his son, anyway.

o^o^o^o

The wheels were set in motion around the time Henrik died. We didn't know it then. We didn't feel anything different, but that was the point everything started going downhill.

It was my fault.

The night Henrik was killed, everything worsened. Mother lost her marbles.

That night was the turning point of our lives as we knew it. Hell, it was the turning point of history.

We grieved.

The night of Henrik's death was filled with grief and madness. We felt the loss of one of ours. After that night, I've experienced very little loss in my life, but during and after that night, I've lost more than I ever hope to have in my life.

Mother and Father were maddened with the grief, the pain of losing one's child, their second child. They swore never again and with trembling hands and tear-blurred vision, mother set to work.

Time mattered little with the recent events, so when she emerged back from her state of haze, no one knew how long it has been.

We were now immortal. They thought that was it, we would never experience the loss of our blood. They didn't predict the… complications.

For me, it happened the first time I killed a man. The feel of this utter, complete, cleansing, pure _relief_, followed closely by the feel of devastating shame and filth. But the white-hot fire in my throat, the trembling of hands, the cold sweat all over my skin… it was blessedly gone.

I could breathe without needing to fight the urge of clawing my throat out.

That was when we realized immortality had… _side effects_, for lack of better words.

A new word has been invented – _vampire._

o^o^o^o

That was the night of all betrayals.

The spell backfired on father's morals. _All_ of them.

We were the first of our kind. In generations to come, we were known as the _Originals_. There was no way to expect what happened.

Blood lust. We fed on it. Food had no taste anymore. It wasn't essential anymore. Well, not mundane food. Humans were our food now.

Father resented that, as well. He called it immoral.

Also, he couldn't look mother in the eye after my first kill, my first quench of thirst.

Mother, his beloved, beautiful wife, has betrayed him. And so, he set on a rampage to murder my _true_ family. _Some morals_…

When he was done with that, he swore he'd hunt us all down. My sister and brothers, and then kill himself, to abolish this unnatural, corrupted being we've created.

But first, he had to kill me. My murder was top priority. Finally, he could pinpoint why I was so different from the rest of his offspring, why he always resented me, why his blood always boiled when he was around me.

Like I said, we changed. But I… I changed the most.

* * *

_I'm a Hybrid!_

_I can't be killed!_

_I just need to be rid of everyone else._

* * *

You're probably confused. Don't worry, it's to be expected of such simple minded beings as yourselves. I'll explain.

We changed, and I don't refer just to the semantics of a definition; human, vampire, werewolf, _hybrid_… no, we _changed_ and we changed deep to our cores. It was as if after that night – with mother's Immortality Spell, with father's rage, the first taste of blood and the first time I shifted – our earth scattered and our inner compasses no longer pointed to the same north. We haven't simply changed. We became different.

It was a night of treason.

Mother's infidelity has been discovered. It was a revelation, to all of us, really.

Father finally understood his repulsion of me, he was relieved. He wasn't a monster for alienating his own son, he was simply _right all along_.

I was relieved, too. I now knew why I found those werewolves so fascinating. But that moment of relief was infinitesimally brief. It only lasted until my first kill, my first taste of blood. Then, I shifted.

I was frightened. Everything I thought I knew vanished, for good or for worse. I hurt.

o^o^o^o

And then it was buried deep inside of me.

That one thing that made me special, made me unique, was stolen from me. I killed the thief in retaliation. That was the seed of a well-practiced behavior.

I felt betrayed by the people closest to me – my mother, Elijah… In all my years, I've never managed to control my trust issues. I couldn't find it in me to place utter faith in another being after that day.

They've ripped away from me the only thing I had in my arsenal – being special, one of a kind. Not the frowned-upon underdog.

That's when I started to hate. I hated everyone who wasn't me.

* * *

_I wish I could control my demons instead of having my demons control me._

* * *

If I were completely honest, I hated myself, too, occasionally.

It was more self-loathing than anything else, really. I hated what I've become. I was emotionally deprived. _Weak_.

Hundreds of years have passed and I can confidently say those events took a much greater role in shaping my personality than I'm comfortable to admit.

Like I said… I have trust issues. It all starts and ends there, in some sort of a vicious circle.

I stare into people's eyes and I believe that I see into the depth of their deceitful soul. No one is real. They all lie. They lie and they scheme. They're all psychopaths.

_Psychopaths._

Even when I say the word I know it's a lie. They aren't psychopaths. Not all of them, at least. I'm the one who's… paranoid.

I'm suspicious. No person is innocent. No act is purely kind, Nothing's been done simply out of good intentions. There's always an ulterior motive.

No one is to be trusted. There's no such thing as an incidental encounter, a brief, meaningless sentence. Everything has a hidden purpose, a plot.

I have no friends. My family members are acquaintances I keep around because I know them well enough to know when they lie and plot against me.

I sometimes feel like I'm going out of my mind. As if I've gone too far seeing into things, too long being suspicious, that maybe it's me, my own mind, that can't be trusted with the reality no longer.

It's a vicious circle. I can't tell truth and make belief anymore.

It's terrifying, the thought that I might be losing my mind, for centuries now.

And I can't turn to anyone for help.

I don't trust them.

I get on with my life. It's a shitty reality.

But above it all… it's mostly lonely.

* * *

_I'm lost. Alone._

_I just don't want to be alone._

_But in the end I'm left infinitely and utterly alone._

* * *

Alone.

It feels like this word has dominated my life for as long as I've lived.

I've always been alone.

Don't be mistaken, I've been surrounded with people most of my life – as much as I hate being lonely, I hate even more being alone. I always needed people around. What a cruel world it is, isn't it? Having to be surrounded with people, only to not be able to trust any of them, only to always think they're conspiring against you, but still, with all the maddening doubt, needing that company around.

I can't stand the silence. I think it's more maddening than the cunning whispers that suffocate me when I surround myself with others. I think that's why I tried to turn so many people into hybrids. I just wanted some company, people who would be able to comprehend me. Maybe some form of solidarity.

I crave that comfort. The comfort that comes of having a true friend, a confidante, a lover… I crave that intimacy, the unspoken trust, the fellowship.

I want to love.

I want to be loved.

I've indulged myself a few times throughout the history, allowed myself to love. Those rare occasions demanded an even rarer person, a subject of my feelings.

It's a constant fight, each day, every encounter. Convincing myself that it was the right choice, that it's _normal_ to fall in love.

I've never been normal.

Anyway, I always end up getting hurt. They either don't want me back or that I disappoint them, just as I've always disappointed my father. The cruelest lovers are the ones who believe that if only they'll love me, they'll manage to change me, _fix_ me. I'm unfixable. I'm unredeemable.

They pretend to love me. I'm being deceived.

I want to be able to trust.

I just want that companionship.

I just want to love and be truly loved.

It is a constant state of madness and misery.

* * *

_And I hate it._

**~The End~**

**A\N: Please review!~**


End file.
